


Six Reasons Rory Gilmore is Infuriating

by pega



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: Chilton - Freeform, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 03:52:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15186167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pega/pseuds/pega
Summary: Rory keeps reading books at lunch that catch Paris's attention. It's distracting.





	Six Reasons Rory Gilmore is Infuriating

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dollsome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollsome/gifts).



> @dollsome your comments always make my day, so this is a thank you fic! Plus you have good taste in ships and I've been meaning to write for Rory/Paris

Rory Gilmore is the most infuriating person Paris Geller has ever met in her entire, and she means entire, life. 

 

First, she waltzes into Chilton like the stringent entrance exams are nothing. Like the waiting list is just some gilded staircase she can glide up, like the Disney princess she clearly thinks she is. She defies not only the explicit protocol of Chilton (since when are there transfers accepted?)  but the implicit as well (since when do transfers offer a genuine challenge to crack?), and it drives Paris nuts. 

 

Secondly, Rory reads, constantly. She makes zero effort to socialize, and it honestly feels like appropriation, to watch this beautiful girl read alone at lunch like it’s her only option. If anyone has the right to snub all of Chilton, it’s Paris, because she’s been snubbed first. She’s put up with these losers her whole life, and by golly, she should be the one opting out of the whole social scene. She’s paid her dues long enough, smiling and making inane small talk at coffee luncheons. She’s earned her retirement. Rory hasn’t.

 

Third, Rory’s books this past month have been of a distinctly... sapphic... nature, and Paris seems to be the only one who’s noticed.

 

Heck, she even brought out an actual book of Sappho’s poetry last Friday, and no one looked twice!

 

At least Rory’s tastes aren’t cliche. She spent three days reading Carmilla, obviously, but Paris also saw the poems of Wu Tsao in the rotation. 

 

But it doesn’t matter how notable her range is, because Rory is untouchable, apparently. No one has teased her for her reading materials, no one has even asked her what she’s reading, as far as Paris can tell. Which is deeply unfair. Paris has already been asked by her mother, repeatedly, to start wearing makeup to school for ‘propriety’s sake’. 

 

Internalized misogyny is one hell of a dug.

 

The fourth most infuriating thing about Rory Gilmore is that she seems to be under the impression that she’s finished all of the lesbian fiction in the world. 

 

The past week, she’s come to lunch empty-handed, staring off into space with those stupid baby blue eyes and a look on her face that says ‘you can talk to me, but I might be too pretty to respond to you’. It’s unnatural is what it is, to see Rory Gilmore without a book, and that’s why Paris finds herself stomping up to Rory’s bench (see how quickly the bench became hers?). 

 

“Yes?” Rory blinks, and Paris decides that this is really, truly a terrible idea.

 

“You should read  _ Patience and Sarah _ next.”

 

Rory tilts her head, sending her dark hair swinging around her neck in a way that makes Paris _really remember_ Rory reading Carmilla. “What?” But Paris knows Rory’s not dumb, no matter how convenient that would be for Paris's class rank and future valedictorian status.

 

“She wrote under the pen name Isabel Miller, but the author was actually Alma Routsong, R-O-U-T-S-O-N-G.” Paris knows that her words are coming out sharp, but Rory is sharp too, underneath all those soft sweater vibes, and she can handle Paris’s sharpness, maybe better than anyone else in the world. 

 

And sure enough, Rory smiles. “Thanks. I’ll check it out.”

 

“You better.” Paris isn’t sure why she does this, why she turns every conversation into a battle and even a simple reply into a threat, but Rory is still smiling like she doesn’t mind. 

 

In fact, Rory even laughs, softly, like this is a joke Paris made on purpose and not her instinctual defensiveness rearing its ugly head. “Okay. And you should read  _ Les Guérillères _ , I finished it at home.” 

 

Paris pauses. “In French?”

 

For infuriating reason number five, Rory nods casually, like it's the natural choice to read a monster of a novel in French.

 

“We don’t have French here, when did you learn French? There’s no way your backwater town has any decent French tutors.” Paris, obviously, speaks French. You have to when you’re named after the capital. 

 

Rory shakes her head. “I self-studied that one, mainly, but my grandmother knows French, so she practices with me sometimes.”

 

“And you use that practice to read  _ Les Guérillères _ ?” Paris hasn’t read it in a while, but it’s almost pulp fiction, for all that it’s actually an epic poem in the classic sense of the word. Although admittedly, French might have been easier to pick up if her assignments were translating pieces like that.

 

“I like to read what I’m interested in.” Rory moves to the side ever so slightly, opening up a space on the stone bench that Paris could fill, if she wanted to. 

 

And the sixth way Rory Gilmore is infuriating? 

 

Paris wants to. 

 

So she does. 


End file.
